since you've been gone
by CS Fitzgerald
Summary: "It only took me five months, and five different women, to get over you, Blair. And here I thought that you were the horrible liar." When she leaves without saying why, Dan Humphrey moves on the only way he knows how.


**Dislaimer:** I do not own Gossip Girl.

* * *

**passing months**

In April I met the first girl.

She was confident, mysterious, and seductive; she seemed to be channeling some kind of real life femme fatale.

I was working the midnight shift when she walked in and smiled at me from across the bar. It was sly, devious, flirtatious. _Is it true what they say about you? _She had asked me immediately, her eyes looking up to meet mine in a blatant challenge. They were impossibly dark…Black almost.

That was the only word I could use to describe her.

Black. It wasn't just the color of her hair or her attire. She had this darkness about her that seemed to be constantly dimming. We had that in common.

_Not at all. _I told her, pouring us both a drink on the rocks. My mind was still hazy from the liquor that I had slipped into my morning coffee, making my vision slightly blurred, but it wasn't nearly enough to erase the vivid memory of you - shining through, clear as daylight, as I silently led her back to my apartment.

And when she left the next morning, I realized I never once asked her for her name.

* * *

In May I met Isla.

She was absolutely out of this world beautiful. Radiant, even, with those impossibly soft curls, glowing complexion, and a bone structure that could have rivaled Greta Garbo's.

However her meek eyes lacked the sparkle of Greta's.

Or yours. (_When were together, I used to be able to see the entire universe and the stars in your eyes_)_._

I instantly recognized the look she gave me when we first met. Longing and desire, born from all the wrong reasons. I could tell that there was a naivety about her, an idealistic view of the world and love. And there was nothing I wanted to do more than crush it.

My former self would be rolling in his grave, but that was before you left. The new Daniel Humphrey doesn't care.

She smells of cinnamon but my nostrils crave the scent of vanilla.

As she kisses me, I wonder if you use still that same shampoo, wherever you are.

I don't allow her to undress me. Only you were allowed to do that.

So I did it myself, quickly. She kept trying to slow me down. She wanted to savor it. But I wanted it to be over as soon as it started. I wanted her to try and plug the gaping hole in my heart as quickly as possible. That way, if she failed, I wouldn't have to waste any time before trying the gin.

She failed.

But this time, so did the gin.

* * *

In June I met Anastasia.

She was damaged - like a copper vase that had been dropped and dented so many times, yet was still holding its shape. Her husband had left her, many years ago, for another, younger woman, from what I could gather, but I never asked for the details.

She would come into the café almost every night. I'd watch her. There was something about her miserable and withdrawn presence that reminded me of someone. _(Not you…But me)._

One night when buying a drink, she stayed at the bar with me. Chatting, laughing, flirting. The rest after that was, as they say, history. Our meetings became routine and every night when she saw me, her blue eyes would light up like yours once did.

Even if it was for a few, fleeting seconds, I felt alive.

Then a month passed before she told me that she was in love with me. Before I told her that I loved her too. Because to me at least, the two statements hold two entirely different meanings.

I was in love with you. (_Was__? Who am I kidding?_)

However I still thought that she might be it. The cure to the drug that you were. To the drug you still are. Yet after a few weeks, your effects began to take over me again. It made me hate you. For breaking me, but even more, for breaking her. For giving her, then taking back, the last chance of happiness she had left.

It didn't take long before the lovemaking became mechanical, cold, boring. Until she became angry and distant.

I let her think that it was about the new book.

I never told her about you.

* * *

In July I met Emily

Jittery, frantic, nervous. She almost never spoke. Instead, she was constantly looking over her shoulder, like some spirit or ghost of the past was looming over her. I didn't know what it was that she was running from and, to be honest, I really didn't care.

Her unruly auburn hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, her lips soft, but demanding, her small yet strong fingers impatient on me. In me, she found a substitute for something. For someone.

While I liked that she never spoke. Although I doubt she would have asked questions anyway. She must have known that I was running from something, that I was broken too, just like she was.

One night she bit down on my earlobe and whispered something to me her own language.

That's when I realized that she was French. From Paris, perhaps, if I really wanted to dwell on thoughts that could destroy me.

The way my name rolled off her tongue sounded so similar to the way it did off yours. I could have almost closed my eyes and drifted into a lie.

Yes, in many ways she was like you.

It only made me miss you more.

* * *

In August I ran into Serena again.

She didn't seem to care about how I'd neglected her before, how cruel I'd been to her, how miserable I'd made her the last time we'd been together. She was still willing, still madly and irrevocably in love with me, after all this time.

She knew exactly what she wanted from me and I knew exactly what I was after.

It infuriated me, because all I wanted was to forget. To go back and find solace in this woman that I'd realized long ago couldn't possibly live up to you.

That was then though - now the only thing on my mind was trying to erase you.

I wanted to screw her hard and fast, wanted to hear her scream my name over and over in ecstasy, wanted to feel her long, perfectly manicured nails digging deeper and further into my back. I needed a victory over her, if nothing else.

I got it, but it was a hollow one.

Because all I remember was how empty I felt when it was done.

* * *

In September I find myself alone.

Alone in the bar. With the alcohol being the only friend keeping me company these days.

Shadows and smoke drift around the dark room, like the constant ghosts of your presence.

Do you want to know how I know I'm dying without you? Because I've already gone through the five stages of loss. Now I'm at acceptance.

As long as I know that you're happy. _(Even_ _if I'm not the cause of that happiness_).

You were the one that opened my mind, but I'm not going to blame you for closing off my heart.

It only took me five months, and five different women to get over you Blair.

And here I was thinking that you were the horrible liar.


End file.
